The Second Sherlock
by UnnaturalDreams
Summary: Sherlock and Watson have a new case but this isn't the usually murdered couple, except for they are, it's the method of murder but their positions when they were murdered, none of it fits. And while Sherlock is fumbling with the baffling case, their grieving (not grieving) daughter is squatting with them and taking all Watson's attention? What's happening here?
1. Chapter 1

"Bored."

John sighed into his newspaper and answered distractedly, "Lestrade said that if anything came up, he would text, just be patient Sherlock."

"I don't want just any case, John," Sherlock rolled off the couch and gestured grandly at the air, "I need a case that would put my mind to good use, one that strains my mental capacities and demands my attention for more than a measly second or two."

"Right, right," John flipped a page, "You'll get one soon, Sherlock, just calm down."

"You don't understand, John," Sherlock shot at the wall, creating another hole for Mrs. Hudson scold him about.

"My god, Sherlock," John jumped up, "Is that my revolver?"

"Yes it is, John," he threw it without a second thought.

John fumbled as he caught the fire arm and complained, "Don't do that, you could end up killing someone."

"I might if it would rid me of this dreaded boredom."

Although John doubted that he would, such a joke wasn't funny from a self-proclaimed sociopath. Fortunately, a ring erupted from Sherlock's phone at that very moment.

"Look, that's probably Lestrade now."

Sherlock grabbed his coat after reading the message, "He wants us on-site now. Come on, John."

John grabbed his coat and phone, "Right behind you."

The crime scene was half an hour away, a fairly large house with neighbors far enough for the privacy each household paid for. The investigation team was swarming the house like fire ants, Lestrade was outside shouting commands. He nodded at the two as they got out the cabbie.

"Lestrade," Sherlock overtook the man in three long strides, "What do you have?"

"A rich couple found dead, both in separate rooms, no signs of a struggle, cause of death unknown, and a daughter who is taking the news remarkably well. The servants all leave around nine, no one hung around simply because there's was no reason to. The doors and windows were locked and no one had any keys except for the head servant and the family."

John asked sympathetically, "How old is the daughter?"

"Fourteen, according to the maids. We couldn't get her to answer any of our questions."

John and Sherlock glanced at each other before Sherlock stated, "First I'll have a look at the bodies and crime scene, then I'll talk to the daughter."

Lestrade snorted, "Good luck with both, Anderson couldn't do a thing and the daughter may grow up to be as odd as you are, Sherlock."

Sherlock and John's eyes met again before they entered the house. The house was just like the outside, mildly luxuriant yet lacking any real life in it. There were artwork and vases of flowers laying around the hallway like nondescript ornaments despite the skill behind the craft. They dodged a few of Lestrade's men as they made their way to the scene of the first murder, the study.

Here, the dead wife was still sitting in the same chair where she had been killed, across from her husband's desk. The plump woman was white as a sheet with her fingers laying stiff on her lap. She had been wearing an ivory dress that night with a cotton brown sweater and stockings but no shoes. Her finger nails were newly manicured into a simple French tip and her feet matched. No jewelry whatsoever.

He and Watson took the time to put on gloves before walking in and Sherlock asked, "Where was the husband found?"

Anderson glared from the wall as he watched Holmes inspect the crime scene, "he was found in the garage, in his car."

"What was the time period between deaths?"

"There was a thirty second difference."

Sherlock inspected the body silently, his gaze becoming more intent by the second. He looked over the desk, chair and windows, his eyes cutting and pasting every detail into his mental records then analyzing. Abruptly, he left the room, barking for Lestrade to guide him to the garage. Watson tossed a final glance at the woman before following suit. It was rare for Sherlock to not take samples immediately.

The same happened at the garage. Sherlock didn't take a single sample, rather, he inspected the place wordlessly.

He asked Anderson urgently, "Did you take blood samples?"

Anderson nodded.

"Good, let me know the results. Where is the daughter?"

Lestrade answered, "She's in front yard."

Sherlock left the room without a word of thanks and strode through the house to the front yard. Watson followed close after, his concern growing with Sherlock's silence.

The daughter, a brunette with thick-rimmed glasses and almost black eyes, was sitting on the shock blanket, reading a thick book with a fixed concentration. Her concentration didn't waver for a moment even when Sherlock greeted her in the most upbeat voice he could muster. He called a couple more times before Watson gave it a try.

He called gently, "Ms. Quinn?"

She slammed the book shut with a sigh, "So you are talking to me." She finally looked up but when she did, something in her facial expression shifted and a wry grin made its way up to her mouth. She stood, dropping the book on the blanket, and held out a hand, "If it isn't Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, it's a pleasure to meet you."

She shook hands with the both of them, her eyes traveling as actively as Holmes's.

Hesitantly, Watson asked, "Could you hear Sherlock calling you?

She nodded, her smile not dimming a bit, "But there are so many occasions where someone is calling in my general direction, I've learned to ignore it until I'm addressed by name so as to not needlessly cease reading." She didn't apologize for ignoring them. "So," she addressed Sherlock, "Is there any new developments in the case, Mr. Holmes?"

He inspected her suspiciously before answering, "None that I care to share as of now. First, I would like to ask you a few questions."

"I have to ask you a question first," she smiled frivolously as her gaze shifted to Watson, "How possible is it for me to squat with you and Mr. Holmes until the killer is caught?"

Before Watson could register the question, Holmes stated firmly, "Absolutely not, it's impossible."

"Please, Mr. Holmes," her smile didn't change, "I don't want the murderers coming for me too."

Sherlock waved off her asserted worries, "If they really wanted to kill you then they would have last night."

Her smiled remained, "Please, Dr. Watson."

Watson paused thoughtfully before relenting, "Sure, you can stay with us."

"John," Sherlock exclaimed, scandalized, "I said no."

John sighed, "Sherlock, if there's anything I've learned from you, Moriarty, Ms. Adler and Mycroft, it's that there's always something we don't know."

"What could we possibly not know, oh," Sherlock froze and spun on his heels to point an accusing finger at Quinn, "You weren't here last night."

She turned her head away but a playful smile tingled on her lips, "I'm unable to deny that statement."

Sherlock frowned, "By why us? Isn't this something for witness protection? And why would you think that they would come back for you anyway?"

"I always sleep with my door closed at night," she explained, "But when I came back this morning, it was open. What do you make of that?"

"Perhaps your parents came to check on you or one of the servants," John offered.

"And not make a fuss when they see her missing?" Sherlock scoffed, "Don't be daft, John, she was also a target but when the murderers failed to find her in her bed, they withdrew for the night." There was a painful pause before he announced, "We have no choice but to keep you with us for the time being, in case they do come back for you."

"Really?" Her smile suddenly brightened, her eyes came alive behind her black glasses, "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Now if you'd like, I could show you something that would help the investigation significantly." She spun around and fluttered away towards the house, leaving the Sherlock and Watson to follow, unsure of exactly who they were following.

She opened the door to her room and floated over to her desk. A pool of stray papers, notebooks and books laid across it, she pushed some of it away to get to her laptop underneath but while she did that, she said to Sherlock, "Why don't you examine my bed and see what you'll find there?"

Sherlock was already rotating around the floral blanket and at her prompt, tore the blanket off and dropped it on the ground. There, almost disappearing into a bundle of sheets made to look like a human, was a miniscule needle. Sherlock had tweezers and a bag out in a blink of the eye and extracted the needle with surgeon-like precision. Watson watched, fascinated.

Watson asked the girl, "How on earth did you see that?" then added as an afterthought, "Quinn."

"When I discovered my door open, I knew that something was wrong," She explained patiently, "I guess you can say I played a 'what's wrong with this picture' game with my room and found what was wrong. When I contributed that little tidbit to the fact that my parents are now dead, I figured it was more than an odd coincidence. You've seen their bodies, right? No blood or anything, right?" She was moving around the room, throwing things in a large pink and black school bag.

Watson answered the question with a quizzical, "You've seen the bodies?"

"Yes, I was there before the police were. After one of the maids found my mother, I came and gave her a brief inspection and I was the one who found my father. I figured they had gotten into an argument so he was leaving to find his mistress but was killed before he could even start the car. He never bothered with his mistress unless he was angry at mother."

"You must have not slept at all last night," Sherlock was looking at her oddly, "Yet you seem perfectly functional right now, why is that?"

"My sleeping pattern is not exactly set in stone, Mr. Holmes, I managed an hour or two while I was out last night so I should be perfectly fine for the rest of the day."

Watson asked, "Have you eaten?"

"I've had tea."

"Not tea, actual food."

"Not quite."

Watson chuckled, "No sleep, no food, a high-functioning mind, sounds oddly familiar, huh, Sherlock?"

Sherlock frowned at him, "I'm sorry, John, I don't share the sentiment."

"You will after a few days of living with her. Do you play any instruments, Quinn?"

She returned to her desk and reached into a drawer and pulled out a long silver flute. "It helps me think when I play. You wouldn't mind if I brought it along?"

"Not if you can play well," Watson grinned at Sherlock who just rolled his eyes.

"Thank you, Dr. Watson."

"Please, call me John."


	2. Chapter 2

"Make yourself comfortable," John took a detached look at the room and saw it for what it was rather than just his home, "or as comfortable as you possibly can in a room like this. I guess I should be apologizing for the mess before anything."

"No, it's great," Quinn assured him, "Rather homey. That's a nice skull, was he an old friend?"

Sherlock ignored the question, "If you're going to live here then I don't want you to complain about my violin, experiments or food or lack thereof."

"Fine but I don't want you to complain about my restlessness at night."

"It's my flat, I can complain about whatever I bloody want."

"It's partly John's flat too."

Sherlock stiffened at the use of John's first name in the mouth of an adolescent. "Okay, John, I'm going to work on getting this girl out the house so take her and disappear for a couple of hours while I think."

John smirked, "Don't sulk, Sherlock, it's not pretty."

"Oh, piss off, John."

* * *

Quinn glared at the wall, a frown distorted her graceful features but as soon as Watson appeared at the door, it vanished.

"Hey, I'm back and I got the cake, just like you asked. Double chocolate, hardly any icing and big enough to share with the whole neighborhood," he chuckled as he held it up.

She was stared stupidly, her mouth half gaping.

Watson noticed her reaction with dismay, "Sorry, you did say a lot of icing, didn't you? I kept on second guessing myself, I really should have called."

"No, no, it's perfect," she stood and relieved him of the cake, "thank you so much, John. To be honest, I... Didn't expect you to get it. It was more like a passing remark."

"Oh," surprise bloomed across his face, "I had no idea."

She chuckled shyly, "Obviously."

He smiled, "No matter. You enjoy that."

"You don't expect me to enjoy it alone, do you?"

John took another look at the cake, "True. What would you like to do then?"

"Don't you and Mr. Holmes have acquaintances you would like to share with? We could have a small party."

"A cake party just for the heck of it?"

Quinn nodded, her smile slowly growing.

"Sure, sounds like fun. I'll see how many people we can get on short notice and we'll do it tomorrow."

"Mr. Holmes wouldn't mind?"

"God, he'll hate the very idea but you need some fun. It's not right for you to be caged up in the house all day with hardly any human contact."

She laughed, "In that case, I've been living my life all wrong. Where is Mr. Holmes?"

"He must be out working on your parents' case. I would think examining the needle you showed him."

"I see," her smile dropped for a moment before she resumed it, saying, "I would have loved to have joined him."

"Then I'm glad I left early," Sherlock appeared behind John, a deep scowl ingrained into his pale face. He stopped at the sight of cake. "Oh, god, you're not planning to celebrate your parents' death, are you?"

"Sherlock," John exclaimed angrily.

She just laughed and shook her head, "I guess it looks like that, doesn't it? John was kind enough to buy a cake for me and we decided that we were going have a party while I'm trapped here."

Sherlock said bitterly, "If you don't like it here then I can pull a few strings to get you into prison."

"Mr. Holmes, I am so confident that you can do that that I'm not going to test you simply because I like it here. It's my preferred prison."

"Your preferred prison is my home."

"Yes, ironic, isn't it? That I'm rooming with a sociopath."

Sherlock ignored her and went to receive his violin.

* * *

"Hello, all, thank you for coming on such short notice." John closed the door behind Molly and looked at the turnout. Mrs. Hudson, of course, Lestrade, Molly and Sally, shockingly but Sherlock was missing.

Lestrade sat with his hands in his pockets, "What is this about, John?"

"Well," John went into the kitchen and brought out the enormous cake, "Do you all like cake?"

The girls lunged at the cake happily, all except for Quinn, who watched with a cryptic smile while sitting below the window. John explained as they cut slices, "I bought this for Quinn but once we saw the size, we realized that we needed to bring in reinforcements so voila, free cake for everyone."

Lestrade looked at the girl who seemed perfectly content in the discreet corner of the room and whispered to John, "How is she getting along with Sherlock?"

John chuckled, "Horribly."

"That's good. Speaking of him, how is he doing with the case? Any new developments?"

"Speaking of developments," Quinn stood and sat next to Lestrade, "Have the police made any new developments with my parents' murder?"

Lestrade answered nervously, "Not quite. Sherlock hasn't told you anything?"

"No, his general answer to all my questions is 'piss off' and when he's not saying it, he is thinking it so getting any information from him is nothing less than improbable if not impossible. I can't help but feel that he doesn't like me for some reason. It must be because I'm monopolizing John."

"Don't even pretend like you didn't add that just because you saw me walk into the room," Sherlock looked around with a disgusted frown, "God, John, you really are having a bloody party." He nodded at Molly and hugged Mrs. Hudson then totally ignored Sally and Lestrade's outstretched hand.

"Okay, Mr. Holmes, I admit it," Quinn was snickering as she admitted, "I wasn't going to say that but when I saw you walk into the room, I realized that I had to. There was no other option."

Sherlock scoffed at her, "Are you trying to be illogical on purpose just to irritate me?"

She feigned sadness, "Mr. Holmes, you always assume the worse of me." She looked up and at John with a grin, "There is honestly no one more fun to irritate than Mr. Holmes."

"I agreed," Sally was smiling in the corner with a piece of cake in her hand, "It is fun seeing Sherlock irritated."

Sherlock announced arrogantly to the both of them, "When you can outwit me then you will truly see me irritated but until then."

"I think I can do that."

Sherlock leered at Quinn, "Please do."

"You and Molly," She tossed an apologetic smile at Molly, "Something happened between you two where the almighty Sherlock had to apologize for his actions. I assume most witnesses have forgotten because of something distracting that happened later but you would never forget since it made the almighty Sherlock apologize. It must have been horrible too since you usually disregard everyone's feelings and/or right to have feelings. Especially Molly, with her being something of a mousy person causing you to right her off as insignificant in your all powerful mind. You probably enjoyed humiliating her with your analysis until you did something that not only made you look like an arse but a new arse that no one ever saw you as, which is shocking enough considering everyone already thought of you as an arse. Was it something about her feelings for you, her being one of the only people who can actually stand you? It was her dress, wasn't it? And something with more sustenance. A gift. She was giving you a gift that you took as a gift for a romantic interest, humiliated her by announcing that, took the gift, found your name on it. Sherlock Holmes, you saw for yourself how much of an arse you are and Lestrade is probably still wondering what I'm talking about," Lestrade gave a brief exclamation, "I started that countdown too early. Anyway, I think it's safe to assume that this was during a Christmas party?"

The room froze, everyone's breath hung suspended in the air except for the laughing girl's, which stopped momentarily after seeing the room pale.

"Was I that right?"

Sherlock seemed oddly pale as he asked, "How on earth did you deduct that?"

She smiled as she explained, "You're a sociopath who likes to keep the skull of a dead guy in your flat, you obviously don't like guest with the exception of Mrs. Hudson and John, who actually lives with you. The moment you saw people in here, you scowled and your reaction to people you think is insignificant is to ignore them but you actually nodded at Molly who has a small, mousy personality that you despise. Something happened, your subconscious was bothered by something you did to her so you were uncharacteristically nice. You love deducing things about people and that's the main problem everyone has with you, other than your awful overall personality. Small, mousy, and practically defenseless but talking to a hawk like you, of course you're going to attack everything you can about her, it's in your nature. Therefore, you deduced something that you shouldn't have deduced. Then, seeing her struck that memory again, not because you still feel bad about what you said but because something memorable happened afterwards, something that stuck to you. She's not going to do anything that you would think is worth remembering but you did do something. What did you do? Well, it's only natural that you apologized but it was so unnatural that it is now committed to memory. What did you deduce? The only signs that you can use to both humiliate her and realize her feelings are tangible. Tangible, what else but how she dress but that's not enough to tell you her feelings so it was something directed towards you, it must have been a gift. She was dressed nicely, giving you a gift, Christmas party. In conclusion, you're an insensitive arse. Are you irritated now?"

Sherlock snarled, "Remarkably so," before disappearing into his room.

John relieved the resulting silence with a "bloody brilliant. All that from a nod?"

Quinn nodded, shying away from the praise, "I was afraid I was reading too much into it for a bit."

"No, that was our Christmas party exactly," John exclaimed.

Quinn grinned with pleasure, "I hope I didn't sound too much like Sherlock, it just seemed too fun to show him what he was doing to everyone else. Would you mind comforting him and lessening his hatred for me?"

"That's not an easy task but I guess I'm up for it." John smiled and followed Sherlock into his room.

A moment later, Quinn asked the room, "So how much are you betting that they're a couple?"

Lestrade had twenty on 'no', Sally had thirty on 'yes', Mrs. Hudson had twenty-five on 'not yet' and Molly refused to participate.

"Oh, please," Lestrade argued, "I'm pretty sure Sherlock is antisexual."

Sally shook her head, "There's no way John could handle living with him if there wasn't some primal attraction."

Mrs. Hudson giggled, "Even if there were an attraction, those boys would be too stubborn to accept it so soon, they need more time."

Lestrade asked offhandedly, "What do you think, Quinn?"

Quinn hid her pleased smile after being invited into the conversation. "I have to say that I'm with Mrs. Hudson. For John to go so far for Sherlock, there must be a reason and for Sherlock to think so much of John is nothing less than suspicious but the process towards them actually accepting such feelings would be insanely long and annoying and might not even happen." She began to wonder who she was agreeing with but the group seemed to understand.

* * *

"Sherlock," Watson took the tall man by the arm and shook gently, "You couldn't possibly be upset. You do that to people all the time."

"I know," Sherlock snapped, "But what I don't know, the part that is really irritating me, is if she was one of the murderers."

"What?" John's hand dropped, "Sherlock… what?"

"Exactly, John, it's incomprehensible that the murderer would want to live with the man investigating the murder but it's also incomprehensible that a newly orphaned girl would take her parents' murder so gracefully, you would think that it happened years ago. She's not even pretending to be upset."

"Sherlock, you saw the teddy bear beside her bed, she's just a girl."

"Exactly, John, it was beside her bed, an odd place for the teddy bear, implying that she felt that it was totally unnecessary to have it on her bed because she knew that she was planning to cuddle it like so many girls do with their bears. It was merely decoration yet not a decoration for show, simply one that she kept around."

"She had it, Sherlock. Why would she keep it unless it meant something?"

"That's the baffling part, John, just when you think she's showing emotion, it's all wiped clean by some other incomprehensible action. If the bear really meant that much to her, if it would have helped lessen her grief by being some sort of memento, she would have brought it along and at least spared it a glance but not once did she do either before leaving the room."

"She's just a young girl, Sherlock."

"One that you compared to me repeatedly because of her intellect alone."

"But why would she kill them?"

"I don't know, John," Sherlock sat at the edge of his bed, "That's the most irritating part. Of course she wasn't close to her parents but that's no reason to kill them, I know that yet her every action induces some sort of suspicion on my part."

John laid his hands on Sherlock's shoulder and massaged absently, "Sherlock, I want to you to throw your whole reputation in my hands and trust me when I say, 'She did not do it.' Her sadness is one of those things that you would never see unless you're not looking. I think this is really tearing into her, so much that she can't even feel it."

"You always want to see the good in people."

"I can only see the good in her because she reminds me so much of you. If I hadn't met you then I would probably be just as suspicious as you are."

Sherlock fell silent, enjoying the gentle movement of John's hands. After a while he relented. "I'll look in a different direction. It'll be a waste of time to look into proving her guilty only to find that she's innocent."


End file.
